Should I fight you? Aim to make you malleable? A perfect supplication to my will?
God I wish I could.
Growing up, I’ve never personified my mood swings, but lately I paint them as sleeping dragons. They lie still, provoking no one, but then the world chooses to ride in on a broom and steal eggs from my nest. Woe be to those who wake the beast. Yes I should control my responses, my emotions and feelings, but imagine cold water poured on your head suddenly. I’m sure the surprise and reflex will stun you; responses have a mind of their own.
My mood swings are often slow and steady in their attack. I don’t know when they will visit, so I have to always be prepared. Colour me intrigued when I say I have no idea what happens around me most times. I feel like I am failing my family, my job and ultimately myself. I have dreams of being happy, yet I am so far from fulfillment—drinking doesn’t help anymore. I’ve taken to listening to Yiruma; I don’t know if it is working. My mind rages, emotions breathe hot ash and molten and my moods reveal sharp claws and rough skin when they swing from here to there.
I was always an angry kid. I lashed out on the playground, screamed profusely at the sky and my prayers were often rants instead of pleas for forgiveness. My anger would often morph into pain and sadness. I’d reflect an un-empathetic opaque shell, the sound of the ocean masked by the snores of my moody dragon. Its recoil is often a rumbling shriek; I don’t know how to describe dragon sounds. I do know that my moods are grumbles, screeching echoes of hurt staining my brain, whistles of yester-year, chantings of I wanna…but, I think I’m going to fail. I try to fight it, but I’m often ill-equipped to go up against scales, claws, hard rigged backs and tails— don’t forget the fire.
My mood swings, and I am often burned by the flame. I’ve never personified my mood swings, but lately images of dragons more than seem to do.
Thirteen down, thirty-nine to go…